The weed-banners ripple and flare
All purple and gold.
And have I no poultry? Oh, come
When the Equinox lulls;
The air is a-flash and a-hum
With the tumult of gulls;
They whirl in a shimmering cloud
Sun-bright on the breeze;
They perch on my chimneys and crowd
To nest at my knees,